


Two Halves of a Whole

by LadyKailitha



Series: The Madcap Adventures of Liya Mason [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Matchmaking, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKailitha/pseuds/LadyKailitha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liya Mason is a red-head on a mission. She's out to get her old university mate, John Watson with his dishy flatmate. But how does she know Sherlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks be ever to my lovely beta old ping hai! She is a great source of encouragement, support and understanding. 
> 
> This is just one of those wild ideas that popped into my head and it wouldn't leave until I wrote it. 
> 
> Also it's pronounced lie-ya.

Sherlock went through the mail tossing each piece back on the coffee table with a "Dull!" or "Boring!" At the bottom of stack were two parchment envelopes, one addressed to him in a masculine hand and one addressed to John in a feminine hand.  
  
Sherlock smiled his wicked grin, shuffled John's envelope among the rest of the mail and sat down in his chair to open his own mail. He quickly glanced over it and his grin threatened to spilt his face. He shoved the letter  between the arm and cushion. He steepled his fingers under his chin and muttered, "Oh, this is going to be fun."  
  
Sherlock waited as John came up the stairs to their flat and entered their living room. The detective watched as John went through the motions of divesting himself of his day. He took off his coat and placed it on the coat rack, he toed off his shoes, and as he took out his keys and wallet to place them on the desk next to his laptop, he turned to Sherlock, "Any mail?"  
  
Sherlock waved his hand vaguely toward the table. John rolled his eyes at his flatmate. While John was grateful Sherlock had granted him the miracle of his return, he wasn't fond of the brassy attitude that came with it.  
  
John sorted through the stack and wandered off when he got to the fancy envelope, opening it up as he entered the kitchen.   
  
Sherlock scowled as heard John say, "Hey, Mary. How would you like to go to fancy party next week?" John's laugh echoed through the flat. "I thought you would like that," he paused as he listened to her. "An old friend of mine, we recently reconnected online." He laughed again, "Yes, it's a woman but she's been married for years. To some actor apparently….no one I've heard of at least. He's quite big in the states from what she told me."  
  
"Some TV show. They lived there while he did the show and she traveled the country with her art." John hummed. "Not sure really. Though quite popular, I understand." John laughed again and then he cursed. "Bugger! My suit doesn't fit anymore." There was a longer pause. "Tomorrow it is. You'll help pick out a suit that isn't too terrible and I get to be your pack mule."  
  
Sherlock huffed. It wasn't as though he disliked John's girlfriend, Mary. Quite the opposite in fact. He found her to be one of the most charming women he's had the fortune to have met. No, the problem was that since John had come home he had barely said two words to the detective in favor of the child therapist. And that simply would not be borne. But as he moved to stand up to do a proper sulk on the couch, John came out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea.   
  
He handed one to Sherlock and took a sip of the other. He grimaced and then swapped with his friend. The two of them stared at each other before they broke into a laugh.  
  
John sank into his chair opposite the dark-haired detective with a contented sigh. "Not that you'll remember; you'll probably delete or something, but Mary and I are going out next Saturday."  
  
Sherlock said nothing as he pulled two cards out of his left inner jacket pocket. He flicked them at John who deftly caught them. One simply said "Sherlock Holmes" in the detective's own hand on smooth card stock; the other was a platinum card in Mycroft's name. John huffed out a laugh.   
  
"Does he know you have this?" John asked, arching an eyebrow at his friend.   
  
Sherlock waved the comment with a careless movement of his hand. "Doesn't matter. The least he could do is to buy you a new suit. Just hand them my card at any establishment on Savile Row and they'll take care of all your needs. In fact, take Mary to a nice lunch as well."  
  
John tapped the cards against the palm of his hand as he thought it over. He wasn't sure he like the idea of using Mycroft's card without his knowledge or his permission. Even if the man was an utter twat.   
  
"Why don't you buy something nice for Mary as well. Get her an expensive dress and all the other things that ladies require to go with it."  
  
John's resolve crumbled at the thought of getting Mary something special. He sighed and got up to put the cards in his wallet. He shook his head and muttered to himself, "Sherlock Holmes, you are a bad, bad man."  
  
Really that should have been John's first clue that Sherlock was up to something, if not the second or third, but at the time he thought nothing of it. And when it did cross his mind later, he merely assumed it was part of the game the two brothers played in trying outsmart the other.   
  
The next day John took Mary out and she squealed with joy when she discovered where they were going.   
  
John got his suit on Savile Row but the rest of his things like the shirt, tie and shoes at Paul Smith. Sherlock had highly recommended him. Mary got her dress at Armani, and the shoes at YSL, complete with matching clutch.  
  
As they sat at one of the many fancy coffee shops in Soho, Mary sighed happily, surrounded by her packages. John would have to go back on Tuesday for the final fitting and the finished suit would be delivered to Baker Street on Friday.  
  
"This was awful nice of Mycroft, love," she murmured and then she inhaled the warm, sweet scent of her luxury coffee.  
  
"Well…." John hedged. Mary laughed.   
  
"Let me guess, Sherlock stole it off him when he was being annoying?"  
  
"Which is always," John said, doing his best imitation of the posh detective. The two of them laughed.   
  
"So how did he convince Captain 'Strong-moral-principles'?" Mary giggled. John merely waved his hand at her packages. "Hmm…wouldn't do it for yourself but for me you would. That's very telling, Captain," she murmured leaning in close. John shivered with excitement.  
  
"Is it now, Miss Morstan? In what way?" John's voice dipped to a throaty growl. Mary just giggled again and raised her arm for the check. John joined in her giggling as they scrambled to find a taxi.  
  
Friday came and so did the suit. Sherlock actually deigned himself to answer his own door for once and took the garment bag from the delivery man. Sherlock opened the bag slightly and was pleased with the color and texture. He sent off a quick text.  
  
 _Looks marvelous. My thanks_. -SH  
  
 _I'm glad you approve, Mr. Holmes ;)_ -MM  
  
Sherlock grimaced at the emotion icon but short of begging and pleading, nothing Sherlock did got Mary to stop sending them. In fact, he was sure their frequency increased. He went up to John's room and set the bag on John's bed. He then went to his own room and pulled out the suit that had been delivered to him earlier that week.   
  
Sherlock unzipped the garment bag and laid out the suit on his bed. It was a midnight blue tailed suit with a silver waistcoat and matching gloves. He went to the bottom of the closet and pulled out the midnight blue patent leather dress shoes. He went to his top drawer and pulled out two small boxes.  
  
He smiled as he set on top of his dresser. He changed into his usual lazy day clothes, raggedy t-shirt, pajama bottoms that slung low on his waist, and his best dressing gown, the blue one. He picked up one box at a time and gave them a quick toss in the air before sliding them into his dressing gown pocket.   
  
John came home from the surgery to his flatmate playing his violin at the window. That was one of the things John did miss about the tall detective while he was gone. The constant sound of violin playing.   
  
John smiled as he watched Sherlock throw himself into the music. When the piece was through, John clapped to show his appreciation of his friend's talent. Sherlock turned around and bowed.  
  
"Yes, yes. You're fabulous as always, Sherlock. Did my suit come today?"  
  
Sherlock nodded, "It's safe up in your room." John grinned and ran up to grab it. Then like a child he came down to show it off to the detective. He pulled out the suit to reveal a light grey suit with wide silver pinstripes and black shirt with black accessories, except the tie, which was the same silver as the pinstripes.   
  
Sherlock nodded appreciatively at the ensemble. Digging into his pocket he hollered "Catch!" before lobbing the two boxes one after another at John. John caught each one deftly and looked at them strangely before the realization dawned on him what they were.   
  
Sherlock smiled. "I don't wear ties and all my shirts have buttons," he said as John opened the first box to reveal the tie pin Sherlock received for rescuing that banker. Which meant the other box was the diamond cufflinks from the recovery of the Reichenbach Falls painting.  
  
"I-I can't take these Sherlock. They were gifts. For being you--for helping those people, I can't--" John said in clear distress.   
  
Sherlock's smile softened. "Of course not, but don't friends lend each other things?"  
  
John sighed, and that statement coupled with Sherlock's fond expression forced him to cave.  
  
"Of course, Sherlock. I'd be honored to wear them."  
  
So when John dressed for the party the next night, the diamond cufflinks went on the cuffs of his silk dress shirt and the tie pin went on the silk tie. John took one final look in the mirror and marveled at the man peering back at him. The suit took ten years off his appearance. He smiled at the result and took off for the living room to grab his keys, mobile, and wallet.   
  
Sherlock twirled his finger upside down to indicate John should turn around. Rolling his eyes, John did as he was bid.   
  
"Very nice, John. I'm sure you'll be the talk of the town tonight."  
  
John grinned. "Thanks to you…. And Mycroft," he added. Sherlock laughed and made shooing motions. John took the hint, grabbed the nice pea coat he had acquired in Sherlock's absence, and left Baker Street to hail a taxi.   
  
Sherlock watched out the window to make sure that John wouldn't be returning for anything and then dashed off to his room to get dressed himself. He pulled out the simple white shirt he had worn the day he met John and put it on. Sentiment, he thought, without bitterness or gall. He got dressed quickly and grabbed his Belstaff as he dashed out the door and into the cold London air. He was slinging it on when a small black sudan pulled up to the curb. Sherlock slid in with a grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note I got a C- in geography.

He gave his name at the door and nearly ran right back out. This was exactly the sort of place he loathed. It was all glitter and glamour without substance or character. Just the kind of shallow place Sherry adored. He gritted his teeth and made his way through the crowd. It was rather unfortunate that, due to the nature of the place setting him on edge, John saw him first. And if his blogger's angry face and tense lines were any indication, he was in for a world of hurt.  
  
"Sherlock!" John hissed as he neared his friend. "What the hell are you doing here? I get disrupting my dates before, but I thought you liked Mary. God, Sherlock!" Thankfully, Sherlock was saved by a squeal and red-headed blur launching herself at him.  
  
"Lockie! You made it, darling! Sherry was _so_ sure that you would be on your way to the Yucatan by now."  
  
Sherlock chuckled. "Belize is far more likely, don't you think?"  
  
 John blinked at the red-head a moment, "Liya?" he asked incredulously.  
  
The red-head turned to John and a grin split her face. "John?" She unlatched herself from Sherlock and launched herself at John. He had to take a step back to avoid being bulled over five feet, six inches and one-hundred forty pounds of mischief. By this point Mary had joined them and was eyeing the other woman warily.  
  
"It's good to see you too, Liya." He untangled himself from his old university friend and put his arm around Mary. "Liya, this is my girlfriend, Mary Morstan. Mary, this is Liya Mason. We were at uni together before she decided she fainted at the sight of blood once too often." John teased. Liya pouted and Mary grinned.  
  
John looked at the way Sherlock stood close to his old friend and cocked his head. "How do you know Liya, Sherlock?"  
  
Sherlock smirked. "She is one of five women I tolerate for any length of time."  
  
"Five? Lockie, you really are getting better at the whole social thing. Good job."  
  
John rocked back on his heels. "Well, clearly one is Mrs. Hudson, who are the other three?"  
  
"Mrs. Hudson and myself are the only ones I know of as well, come on, Lockie, spill."  
  
Sherlock smiled fondly at his friends. "Molly Hooper, of course." John nodded but Liya leaped on it.  
  
"Ooh, who's this then?"  
  
"A friend in the lab at St. Bart's. She's been very helpful to my work." Sherlock blushed.  
  
"Is she young, pretty?" Liya urged.  
  
"She's both," John interjected. "But she has a boyfriend."  
  
"Well, boo for you then, Lockie. So who else then? You still have two others to go."  
  
"The Woman." Sherlock coughed. John laughed when both Mary and Liya looked confused.  
  
"Irene Adler. Very smart, very pretty, far too dangerous for her own good," John explained to the ladies. They nodded in understanding.  
  
"And the final one?" Mary asked. Sherlock arched his eyebrow in condescendence. Mary blushed and John lifted both eyes in amazement. Liya looked at the other woman appreciatively.  
  
"That's quite the rare complement, Miss Morstan. I'm sure you deserve it. John chose you, after all."  
  
Sherlock made a slight coughing noise and John kicked his ankle.  
  
"I see someone has finally been able to tame you, Lockie," a smooth voice said from behind them.  
  
Sherlock whirled around, his fists clenched tightly and John fought the urge to step between them. Sherlock could fight his own battles far better than John could for him.  
  
"I resent the implication that I need taming, Sherrinford," Sherlock hissed at the new-comer. Liya placed her hand on Sherlock's arm placatingly. John looked over the new addition to the group. He was taller than Sherlock, with the same curly dark brown hair but with a broader build almost reminiscent of Mycroft. _No, it couldn't be. Surely Sherlock would have told me if had any other family living. Wouldn't he?_ When John thought about it, Sherlock was very tight lipped about a lot of things, but family most of all.  
  
"Oh there you are, brother," Mycroft's oily tones oozed as came toward them. Both Sherrinford and Sherlock turned to face the other Holmes brother. As Mycroft neared them he uttered, "Oh, Sherlock, you're here as well. This is quite the occasion."  
  
Then it hit John like a ton of bricks. " _Dear god!_ They were at Sherlock's fake funeral." He turned to Mary almost completely ashen. "I didn't recognize them. I never knew. Two brothers. Oh god." Sherlock pressed a drink into his hand and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Breathe, John. Had I known that this would have been your reaction, I would have warned you ahead of time."  
  
"Bah! The pair of you, mischief incarnate," Sherrinford scoffed at Sherlock and Liya.  
  
"John, may introduce my husband, Sherrinford Holmes, Esquire? Sherry, this was the friend I was telling you to invite last minute."  
  
"Ah yes. Pleased to meet you, ol' chap, at last. Mycroft likes to keep me abreast of all our brother's dealings, but I never got the opportunity to introduce myself before."  
  
This man was so unlike Sherlock and Mycroft that John felt his jaw go slack. Sherlock smirked and put one gloved finger underneath John's jaw to lift it. Sherrinford laughed.  
  
"I'm the normal one," he told John, winking.  
  
"If you can call being an actor _normal_ ," Mycroft sneered.  
  
"Wait, wait. Liya, you called him something different when you were talking about your husband, Colin something…"  
  
"That's my stage name," Sherrinford explained when Liya just grinned.  
  
"Oh. Well, then." To say John was stunned would be an understatement. He was completely flummoxed.    
  
"He does love to be dramatic," Sherlock mocked and John nearly choked on his drink. Those were the _exact_ words Mycroft used to describe Sherlock himself.  
  
Once he caught his breath, John muttered, "Runs rampant in the family, clearly." Mary and Liya laughed while the brothers looked decidedly affronted.  
  
Mary was tugged off to the side and John turned to the Holmes brothers. "Um…I haven't seen Liya in a while…is it a good thing that the two of them get along so well?" The three other men exchanged glances and said with one accord, "No."  
  
"Damn. I thought not. Any chance I can nip this in the bud before it starts getting too deep?"  
  
"None at all, Dr. Watson. Once my dear wife gets someone in her sights, that's it. They're done for."  
  
John sighed. He looked at Mycroft and Mycroft looked him over before starting to edge away.  
  
"My….where are you going to?" Sherrinford asked, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.  
  
"My? Is that your nickname, Mycroft?" John teased. The politician blushed a deep red.  
  
Sherlock huffed. "His is the least ridiculous. And yet he gets the most embarrassed." The red in Mycroft's face deepened this time in frustration.  
  
"Well, that answers one of the questions he was trying escape answering or having you two answer for him." Sherlock and Sherrinford grinned and all three men turned to the middle Holmes brother.  
  
"So," Sherrinford began.  
  
" _Did_ you bring a plus one, brother dear?" Sherlock finished.  
  
"Clearly _you_ didn't, Sherlock. Why would that be? Could it be that _your_ plus one brought a plus one of his own?" John looked between the sparring brothers with confusion.  
  
"Ah ha. So you asked and got turned down. That's the only reason for you to be so testy," Sherlock pressed.  
  
"Sherlock, that's enough," Sherrinford said, stepping between them. "There is no need for this instant squabbling. Seriously. I don't understand what got into the pair of you. You used to be so close as children."  
  
"I've always wondered about that, too," John interjected. "Mycroft is always going on about deep resentments and old wounds."  
  
Sherlock's hands fisted in his gloves. John looked over over his friend and realized that this was not the place for that. "Never mind. We're here to have fun, not bring up the past," he said and placed a calming hand around Sherlock's wrist.  
  
"Come on, Sherlock, let's go find Mary." Sherlock nodded, his jaw too clenched answer. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Sherrinford. Good day, Mycroft." And he led his angry flatmate way from his brothers.  
  
"Interesting fellow that Dr. Watson, Mycroft," Sherrinford said as he watched the two of them walk off, John's hand still on Sherlock's wrist. "Do you think they realize what they feel for the other?"  
  
"Sherlock and Mr. I-am-not-gay? Highly unlikely. Besides, I hear things are quite serious between the good doctor and Miss Morstan." He raised his left hand and wiggled the fingers to show how serious.  
  
"That is serious, indeed. Is Sherlock aware of the gravity of the situation?" Sherrinford asked, concerned. He could see the toll the three years had taken on his youngest brother and feared that the marriage of one John H. Watson would break him.  
  
"Very much so, but Miss Morstan has been very kind to our brother. He has described her as quite clever and charming. Words she would no doubt return. They are quite close, in fact."  
  
"Which makes his feelings for John that much more difficult. He would keep quiet for her sake."  
  
"Sad but true." They sat in silence a moment.  
  
"Is there nothing to be done? Sherlock hasn't had a friend since Victor."  
  
"And now he has a few. Though I suppose Mrs. Hudson and the Detective Inspector are more like a mother and father to him, respectively."  
  
"It's good to see him thriving," Sherrinford agreed.  
  
"Speaking of Mr. Trevor," Mycroft interjected into the silence that had fallen between them, "I had heard he was going to be here tonight."  
  
"Yes, he's around here somewhere."  
  
Across the hall, the self-same man was making his way to the Baker Street boys.  
  
"Sherlock!" He called out. The tall, dark-haired detective turned and barreled into the waiting arms of a tall red-head. He had a nicely trimmed beard and tailored clothes and suddenly John was grateful for the suit he had on. He was broad shouldered like Sherlock's brothers.  
  
Sherlock stepped back and grinned when he saw who it was. "Victor!" he called and embraced the other man, and something dark uncoiled in John's chest. Something he couldn't identify.  
  
"My good sir, it is wonderful to see you again," Sherlock said as he pulled back.  
  
"I heard you had died, you old crow." John just stared at the red-head. Old Crow? John couldn't have been more confused if he tried.  
  
First there was the brother of which neither Sherlock or Mycroft had mentioned and sister-in-law whom he had met at university. Now there was a friend of Sherlock from university. When all the indications said that he was Sherlock's first real friend, John felt muddled and even a little hurt.  
  
"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Sherlock said, smirking. He moved out of the man's clutches and to John's side.  
  
"Victor, this is my good friend and flatmate, Dr. John Watson," Sherlock suddenly raised his hand.  
  
"Mary! There you are! John and I were just looking for you. Come meet my friend, Victor."  
  
Mary and Liya make their way through the crowd and to the three men. Liya embraced the red-head.  
  
"Vicky, darling. I'm glad to see you made it. And, oh look, you found Lockie, too." Liya oozed confidence and charm as she introduced her new friend to other man.  
  
After a few minutes Victor had charmed Mary and Sherlock was even happily chatting along. Sherlock _never_ chatted. John was practically seething with jealousy. If he had been a cartoon character, black tendrils would have been surrounding him. John was about to storm off when he felt a small pressure on the small of his back. He looked up to see Sherlock smiling down at him.  
  
A small twist of pain eased a little. It didn't take away it all but enough. Enough that John was able to join the conversation.  
  
"John, I must say that suit is fantastic on you. What was you said you did?" Victor radiated charm, but somehow it put John's hackles up.  
  
"I'm a general practitioner. I have my own practice. Though before I met Sherlock, I was an army doctor and medic for the RAMC. I specialized in triage and emergency care." John back straightened and he lifted his chin. "The suit, however, a was gift from the younger Holmes brothers. A bit of penitence as it were."  
  
"Penitence for what?" Victor purred and everyone held their breath as they wondered what John was going to do. He may have had the patience of a saint, but some things could not and would not be borne, and this was one of them. It seemed to everyone that Victor was insinuating John was a kept man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we meet the third member of the Holmes family. It has been speculated that in the original books there must have been a third brother, considering Mycroft was in the government and Sherlock made up his own job. And because they are geeks like the rest of they give him the name ACD was going to give Sherlock originally. We just won't talk about Ormond Stacker....
> 
> Liya Mason however is of my creation and looks like Amy Yasbeck. I googled British red-heads and she was on the list. I learned later, she's American. But don't hold that against her, she gorgeous. 
> 
> Her husband looks like Colin Firth. Who is, by chance, six years older Mark Gatiss, who plays Mycroft.


	3. Chapter 3

"For watching Sherlock jump off a building, dealing with the press afterwards, and the hurt, anger, and depression that followed. Yes, it was to protect me from some truly evil men but it doesn't take away the sting of betrayal. So they gave me a suit and all that entails as a little object to soothe the pain. But I have never taken anything else from them other than the odd food bill or three. But we're flatmates, we share responsibility of things like that."

John looked him over, "Even I can tell you're not doing as well as you'd like everyone to think. Judging from the state of your shoes and the cuff links. Even I know diamonds don't chip." Sherlock smiled at John's little deduction and that was all that was keeping John from stalking off. 

Victor hastened to apologize. "I'm so sorry. It's just at Uni, people would befriend Sherlock only for his money and I was just trying to make sure you weren't one of those. I never meant to trivialize your pain at all. It's clear Sherlock thinks highly of you and that's good enough for me." He extended his hand to the small army doctor. John looked at it warily. He sighed before taking it. He really didn't want to be friends with this man, but Sherlock liked him and that would have to do for John, too. 

The rest of the night to seemed to flow peacefully. There were no more surprises for John. But he still felt that knot of discontentment in his chest. The feeling that everyone was having a bit of joke at his expense. 

On the way back to Mary's flat, she gushed about how wonderful Sherlock's family and friend were. And how sly Sherlock was for keeping them a secret. That knot in John's chest tightened further. He knew he had nothing to fear from those he met tonight but the left-over feeling of betrayal from the Fall had wormed that shadow of doubt, the one that had been kept at bay through the toughest of fires. He had never doubted Sherlock Holmes until tonight. 

What else had Sherlock kept from him?

When he got home, the anger that had been simmering all night boiled over and he took off the fancy clothes and threw them into the corner of his room, followed by the shoes and the things Sherlock lent him. Finally down to his underpants and t-shirt, he slid down his closed door. 

It was one of the things that had bothered him when the papers talked about him in relation to the great detective, that he was a kept man. That he was living off Sherlock's money. He let out a small sob. 

John wasn't sure how long he sat there trying to control the black dog that had come a howling. The feeling that he wasn't as important to Sherlock as he had been led to believe. He wasn't Sherlock's only friend. Was he even his conductor of light? He shook himself and got up. He didn't bother putting on his pajamas and just slid under the covers.

Once John had fallen to sleep, Sherlock opened the door to the upper bedroom and crept in. He took stock of the room and his friend's sleeping form. He made rapid-fire deductions and what he found tore at his heart. Somehow, some way, he had hurt John. 

But how? He thought back through the night and came to the disheartening conclusion that Victor Trevor was one surprise too many for the good doctor. And though Sherlock had no prior knowledge that Victor would be there, the fact was that before John came along, there had been someone who cared for him. In the morning Sherlock would explain, make John understand. And he would do just that. 

Morning came and John had calmed down enough to properly take care of the things that Sherlock had given him and put the cufflinks and tie pin back into their boxes. He was just going to hand them to his friend and go over to Mary's. Maybe she could help him understand why his emotions were swirling out of control.

John entered the living room and set the boxes on the arm of the chair which Sherlock occupied. He moved to walk out when he felt a gentle touch on his wrist. He turned to look down at his friend. Sherlock looked up at him, pleading for him to stay. John released a sigh and he moved to sit across from the dark-haired detective. 

"As ignorant as I appear to be to social norms, I am not completely remiss. I understand that yesterday was quite the blow for you and you must be feeling like you've lost your equilibrium. I'll do my best to explain."

John was surprised. "Mrs. Hudson or Liya didn't explain it to you first?" he asked. 

Sherlock chuckled. "No. Which would you like me to answer first: that I have other family than Mycroft, or that I had a friend before you?"

"Uh… the family, I guess."

"I don't talk about my family to anyone. If Mycroft hadn't been the interfering git he is, you wouldn't have heard about him, either. I'm the black sheep of the family. The 'freak,' as it were."

"But you get along with Sherrinford and Liya okay," John interjected.

"I get along with Liya, John."

"Oh. So you like your sister-in-law but not her husband?"

"Just so. Of course by the time I was born Sherrinford was thirteen and Mycroft was seven. My parents didn't want another child. They already had the two he wanted."

"'He' being your father?"

"Yes. 'An heir and a spare' I believe is the common phrase. I was superfluous in his eyes. My mother died when I was seven, by then Sherrinford was out of the house at university learning the family business. Or he was supposed to. Instead he got into acting and left for California. My father was too proud a man to disown him but he spent most of his time trying to convince Sherrinford to come back into law."

"How were _you_ the black sheep?"

"Because when I was five I deduced that he was having an affair with three different women, one of them being a waitress at his club. Of course, I didn't understand what I was saying at the time."

"Oh god."

"Of course, Mycroft and Sherrinford knew, they just also knew when to keep their mouths shut. My father was the first one to call me a freak." John winced. "My parents shipped me off to boarding school after that. The beatings didn't start until after Mycroft had gone to university."

"Hence your incorrect diagnosis as a sociopath," John said nodding. "Psychopaths are born, sociopaths are made through neglect and abuse." 

"Very good, John. Someone has done their research. My brothers turned a blind eye to what was happening with me."

"'So many resentments'," John quoted. 

"Indeed."

"So where were Sherrinford-- dear god, what a mouthful! -- and Liya when I first moved in with you?" John decided to change the subject, as he could tell the detective was having a hard enough time with the current subject as it was. 

"America, like she said. That was another reason they weren't brought up. No point telling you about people you would never meet. Oddly enough, it was my supposed demise that brought them back to England. Instead of renewing his contract with the station, Sherrinford opted to quit the series and come back."

"Did he know the way Mycroft did, that you were still alive?"

"No. And I'm not sure they've forgiven us for that."

John let out a long whistle. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to forgive his siblings if they pulled what Mycroft and Sherlock pulled. 

"And Victor?" This one was the really hard one for John.

"I didn't lie in Dartmoor, John. I only have one." Sherlock went on to explain the case of the _Gloria Scott_. He talked about meeting Victor when his bull terrier decided to take exception to his ankle. "It wasn't the most conventional way of making friends, but it was efficacious." He talked about meeting Victor's father and the man's suggestion to take Sherlock's hobby of deduction and make a job of it. "Of course that wouldn't happen for a couple more years." He talked about the man's death and the case surrounding it. "Victor was never the same after that. Did you ever wonder why I tried so hard to bring you out of your depression?"

John blinked. The thought hadn't occurred to him at all. John had always assumed that the detective had seen something in John and set out to make him the perfect companion. But apparently it went deeper than that.

"I feared he would waste his life away. One morning I awoke to an email 'Gone to India to make my fortune. -VT' and that was the last I heard from him until last night."

"How long?" John choked out.

"Let's see, it's been five years since I met you, five years before that Detective Inspector Lestrade picked me up off the street and let me consult on cases. So it would have been a couple years before that…twelve years give or take."

Again John let out a long whistle. "Right. Wow. Well, clearly he thinks he's done well for himself."

"So have you, John. So have you." Sherlock smiled fondly at his friend. 

A smile which John returned, "Well. I've got to be off. I told Mary I'd meet her for breakfast."

"Give her my love," Sherlock said, rising to get his violin out of his case. John nodded and began to gather his things to go. He reached for the door and stopped. He turned around.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for telling me. You didn't have to."

Sherlock turned around, "Of course I did, John." The two of them smiled at each other for a moment then Sherlock broke the silence by placing the bow to the violin's strings and beginning to play. The song was soft and a bit bittersweet. John listened for a moment before opening the door and setting out for Mary's.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter but you'll see why.

Liya sat in the parlor with the elder Holmes brothers having tea, chatting about the party last night.  
  
"Mary is such a lovely girl, but I'm not entirely sure she's right for John," she said between sips of tea.   
  
The two men turned to her, their heads nearly whipping around. She smirked at them.   
  
"Liya dear…" Sherrinford warned. "You remember the last time you went matchmaking, how well that turned out."  
  
"Oh bah, Sherry! How was I to know she had not one, but three secret lovers?"  
  
"Because I told you so?" he replied.   
  
She waved him off. "Then surely you must see how much Sherlock adores John?"  
  
Sherrinford sighed.  
  
"There's nothing for it, brother dear. When your wife takes an idea into her head, she becomes more stubborn than Sherlock," Mycroft explained.  
  
"I often wondered," Sherrinford said, "which one taught that trick to the other?"  
  
Liya wagged her finger at her husband. "Don't think I don't know what you are up to. Don't you try changing the subject." She rounded on Mycroft. "My, dear. You've known the current John longer than either of us. The John Watson I know is pre-war and degree. How does he feel about our darling little brother?"  
  
Mycroft winced, but there was no avoiding it. She would only try other methods of getting the information out of him. He had offered her a job almost as often as Sherlock. In fact she was the better option, as an artist could fit in almost anywhere. Each time she would just smile and turn away. At one point he thought that she was already an agent for one of their agencies but once his clearance reached high enough he had looked into it and found she just loved to tease him.  
  
He relayed what he told her husband the night before, that despite his highly emphatic declarations of not being gay, John was quite smitten with his brother.   
  
"The biggest problem will be getting him to realize that he doesn't have to follow the traditional values on which he was brought up. I believe he feels that with a lesbian sister it's up to him to do the proper thing and settle down with a wife and raise little ones. Never mind that he has never taken the conventional route in anything. Need money for medical school, join the army. He was assigned to a base where he could have been safe, but volunteered for the front lines. Looking for a flatmate, decides to fall in with Sherlock, of all people. You both know most people's reaction to his little deductions?"  
  
"'Piss off'," they uttered together.  
  
"Just so. Not John Watson. No, this man tells Sherlock in every way conceivable in the English language how wonderful he is. Sherlock didn't have a chance. From their first giggle in the back of a cab, our brother was destined to fall for the wounded army doctor." Liya and Sherrinford nodded.   
  
"As for John, it would be easy to assume from the praise he heaped on Sherlock that he was smitten from the get go. I even teased him about it at our first meeting. But I don't think it was until Baskerville that he began to really fall for him. According to Detective Inspector Lestrade, that's when John stopped his litany of 'I'm-not-gay!' when people made the assumption they were a couple.   
  
"And then Moriarty happened. I honestly believe that had that spider not reared his ugly head when he did, things would have gone quite differently, that they would have gotten together. Maybe that was one of Moriarty's aims. After all, according to Sherlock, the devil had referred to John as Sherlock's heart."  
  
"So even their arch-enemy thought they were a couple or at least soon would be," Liya said.  
  
"Sadly, while Sherlock figured it out, John did not. It took him nearly a year to realize it and by then it was too late. The wheel had already been set in motion that would bring Sherlock to jump in defense of those he loved."  
  
"I'm still upset that you didn't tell us the plan. I'm an actor, for god's sake! I could act distraught enough for anyone."  
  
"Yes, but could Liya?" She opened her mouth to protest. "I could have just told Sherrinford it's true, but you would have sensed his distress and he would have ended up telling you anyway. We weren't sure how closely the family would be watched. I would be fine. Moriarty's nickname for me was 'Ice Man', after all. Not showing emotion or care would be what they would be expecting."  
  
"We're getting off topic now," Liya interjected before her husband could counter Mycroft's argument. They would be at it all night. "It doesn't matter, it's all in the past. We need to concentrate on getting the boys of Baker Street together."  
  
"I thought you said you liked Mary," Mycroft protested. "Don't you think getting John together with Sherlock would hurt her?"  
  
"That's why I'm going to simultaneously hook them up with separate people so they break up amicably, and Sherlock can still have his friend in Mary."  
  
"Oh, dear god. Who have you got for Mary then?" Sherrinford asked and then raised her hand to stop her. "Let me guess, Victor?"  
  
Liya smirked. "Don't you think they would be great together? She likes hearing about adventures, but I don't think she has the constitution to live the life of an army wife."  
  
"John's not army anymore, love," Sherrinford protested.  
  
"How did you describe London, Mycroft darling? As 'a battlefield'?" Mycroft nodded. "See? There you have it, Sherry dear. London is just as dangerous as any battlefield John would find in the army. Mary is a sweet girl, really. But she needs someone who is stable and isn't madly in love with his flatmate."  
  
The brothers merely rolled their eyes. It was no use trying to dissuade her when she got her eyes set on something.  
  
Sherrinford sighed. "Clearly you have someone in mind for the lady."  
  
"Indeed. I saw how absolutely charming she and Victor looked together."  
  
"Plus it has the added bonus of removing Victor from the picture with Sherlock," Sherrinford commented drily.  
  
"Does it, dear? That would be wonderful, too." Liya batted her eyelashes innocently. Neither brother bought the act and she tried pouting instead.  
  
"Of course we'll help, love. What do you want us to do?"  
  
She leaned forward to tell them. By the end of it all, their tea had gotten cold and they had Operation: _Johnlock_ ready to go into full swing.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock balked when he saw the restaurant to which was Liya taking him.  
  
"Oh no. Absolutely not," he said, digging in his heels.  
  
"Come on, Sherlock. I've been dying to try this place for months but Sherry refuses. Something about not liking Indian food," she replied, trying to pull him along. She managed to at least get him through the door, Sherlock protesting all the way.  
  
"Any other time, just not right now. I know a really good Chinese restaurant I think you'll like. Just please," Sherlock pleaded, looking up or to the side, anywhere but his sister-in-law's face.  
  
"Why?" Liya huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.  
  
"John--"  
  
She threw her arms in the air, "Come on. Just because he might be here, doesn't mean you can't be here."  
  
Sherlock shook his head and continued to be stubborn. "After Sarah and the fiasco at the Chinese circus," he explained, "John made me promise to never crash his dates again. I haven't always kept that promise, but I have to this time…for Mary." Sherlock looked down at his shoes and rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. A warm, steady hand touched his arm and calmed him.  
  
"Even I know better than to to argue with Liya Mason when she's set her mind to something, and I'm not even her brother-in-law."  
  
Sherlock looked up to see John standing at his elbow, a gentle smile on the shorter man's face.  
  
"You're not angry?" the dark-haired detective asked his friend. The doctor shook his head and a soft smile spread over Sherlock's face.  
  
It made Liya want to beat their heads together. God! How could they be so blind? But she had to stick to the plan. Baby steps. Otherwise this whole thing could blow up in their faces, and she was damn sure that she couldn't live with the fallout.  
  
"Why don't the two of you join us?" John asked, his hand still on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock looked askance at Liya.  
  
"Sure," she said brightly.  
  
The three of them made their way over to John and Mary's table.  
  
"Look what the red-head dragged in," John said by way of greeting when they got to the table.  
  
"Quite literally it seems," Mary smiled up at the tall detective and the other woman. "You know you are always welcome, Sherlock."  
  
"Well…" John hedged. "There was that one time…" He sat down next to Mary.  
  
"That was an accident! I had no prior knowledge that you were staying at the same hotel as the thief I was chasing," the detective protested, as he and Liya slid in across from the couple.  
  
"Well…about that…" John said, blushing. Everyone at the table turned to the army doctor.  
  
"I knew it was the same hotel," John explained sheepishly. "I saw the hotel name on the file DI Gregson gave Sherlock and thought it would be good place to take Mary for our anniversary. I just wasn't expecting the thief to go tearing through our room, with Sherlock hot on his heels just as…uh…well, you know what I mean," John finished, blushing.  
  
Mary and Liya laughed but Sherlock blushed with him.  
  
"I didn't see anything, you know," Sherlock muttered into his water glass.  
  
Mary reached out and gave his hand a squeeze, "I know, love. Always the perfect gentleman." Sherlock looked up and flashed her a grateful smile.  
  
John beamed at Mary, and even Liya gave her an approving glance. The waitress walked up to them to take Liya and Sherlock's order; the detective only got a small salad.  
  
"Lockie darling, aren't you getting more than that?" the red-head asked.  
  
Mary chuckled. "Just watch," she said with a wink.  
  
When their food arrived Sherlock picked at his salad, but the chicken curry on John's plate seemed to vanish faster than the good doctor was capable of putting it away.  
  
Liya blinked. "Is-- is Sherlock eating off John's plate?"  
  
"Yep. It's how we get Sherlock to eat," Mary explained. "Sherlock doesn't like eating on cases and because of that, he has a small stomach. It's not worth buying a whole dish when he's not going to finish it, so John orders something they both like, and John lets Sherlock eat off his plate. It's quite cute really."  
  
Sherlock blushed as Liya scrutinized him.  
  
"You must tell me how you do that," John asked between bites.  
  
"Do what?" Liya asked, furrowing her brow.  
  
"Make the great detective blush," John's grin threatened to spilt his face. The grin slipped when the doctor winced from a well-placed kick in the shin from his friend.  
  
"It helps that I've known him for a lot longer than you," she explained.  
  
"How did you meet his brother?" Mary asked and John nodded in agreement. It had been twenty years since he'd last seen Liya, but he knew he would have noticed a posh wannabe actor hanging around the place.  
  
"Let's see…" Liya thought out loud. "I abandoned pre-med my second year, so I would have been twenty then. It would have been the next year because Sherlock was sixteen when I meet Sherry. I was doing the staving artist bit and he was doing plays on the West End. Not quite major roles yet, but earnest nonetheless. My friends dragged me to a play there, and he broke character to wink at me."  
  
"And everything just happened from there?" Mary asked.  
  
"Oh, I made sure to lead him on a merry chase first," Liya replied with a wicked gleam in her eye.  
  
"Sentiment," Sherlock muttered, and then winced when John kicked him in the shin.  
  
"Says the man who gambled everything: his life, his Work, his reputation, and his sanity, to save those he cared about from a madman," John admonished.  
  
"Was worth it, though," Sherlock mumbled into his cup, taking a sip to hide yet another blush.  
  
"Yes, it was," Mary said, taking John's hand in hers. But John wasn't looking at Mary; he was staring at Sherlock.  
  
Soon they finished their meal and Mary stood up.  
  
"Sorry, I've got to skive off," Mary told the group. "I've got work early in the morning."  
  
John stood up and gave her a kiss. "I've got the late shift tomorrow, so I won't see you until Friday, unless we've got a case."  
  
Mary nodded and gave him a peck on the cheek before dashing off. John sat back down, and Liya noted that he didn't seem as bothered by her absence as he otherwise should be.  
  
They paid their bills and got up to leave. As they were passing one of the waiters, they heard him mutter, "These gays, always flaunting it. It makes me sick."  
  
Liya looked at them, a shocked expression on her face. "Is he talking about you two?"  
  
Sherlock chuckled. "Apparently. Even when we are out with Mary or Lestrade, everyone thinks we are the couple."  
  
"It is actually kinda funny," John said. "Been happening since the get go. Let's see, Mrs. Hudson was the first, right?"  
  
Sherlock murmured his agreement.  
  
"And it's just been ongoing since," John told her. "I use to protest it until Sherlock made a valid point."  
  
"Oh?" Liya asked.  
  
Sherlock coughed. "That he would be flattered at the mistake that we were a couple if I were of the opposite gender."  
  
"Ah," she said, nodding.  
  
John blushed. "Made me feel bad, so I stopped. And it wasn't as though it was harming anything. I was actually better able to pick up women than before."  
  
Liya shook her head at her sex. And they wondered why all the "good ones" were taken?  
  
"Mary wasn't like that, was she?"  
  
John's blush turned a deeper red. "I…uh…met her while Sherlock was…um…gone."  
  
Sherlock looked down at his feet uncomfortably.  
  
John hastened to make his friend less so, "So you see, a lot of good came out of the Fall. I wouldn't be alive without him, many times over."  
  
Liya smirked inwardly. John could have reiterated that he found Mary during the Great Hiatus, as her family had come to call it. Instead he focused on Sherlock. Outwardly she smiled fondly at the pair of them. "So, when was the first time Sherlock saved your life?"  
  
This time John's blush was out of shame rather than embarrassment. "The day Mike introduced us."  
  
Liya looked between the two of them, confusion stamped clearly on her face.  
  
Sherlock preened a little; he was proud of this one. "Do you know the rate of suicide of returning soldiers from combat?"  
  
Her mouth formed an "O" as she made the connection.  
  
"Yeah, well. It doesn't matter," John told her. "I met this git and was too intrigued to think about the gun in my desk drawer."  
  
"Well, I've got to get going," the red-head told them.  
  
"Would you like us to escort you home?" John asked.  
  
"You didn't ask Mary," Liya retorted.  
  
John winced. "I tried that once. It did not end well."  
  
Sherlock chuckled, "Lucky for you, you're a doctor."  
  
"Oi! Shut up; it wasn't that bad," John said, hitting his friend in the arm. Sherlock mock-groaned and gripped his arm as if it were hurting badly.  
  
"I'm fine, John," Liya said, cutting into their playful banter. "I've got the British Government and the Great Detective as brothers-in-law. Anyone would have to be damn foolish to try anything. And if they were, I'm no shrinking violet and Sherry is trained in a couple of martial arts, I promise."  
  
John laughed and let the matter drop, and the two boys got into a cab headed for Baker Street.  
  
Liya watched them go with growing amusement. She dug her mobile out of her purse and called. "That was almost too easy, my love. They are 90% of the way there already. They just need a gentle push."  
  
She laughed into the phone. "I can be gentle if called for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used this chapter to explain (to myself if nothing else) a few things in the series that they don't tell us. Like how Sherlock doesn't seem to be eating any more between season 1 and 2 but he has clearly put on weight and looks healthier. And why John suddenly stopped announcing his sexuality every time someone thought he and Sherlock were a couple in Hounds. Because let's be honest, no matter what Sherlock is sexually, (and I have my own theory on that in a later chapter) it's got to hurt every time John protests. It's probably why he doesn't say anything when the mistake is made.


	6. Chapter 6

John was having a comfortable night in with Mary, which she shattered with a simple notion.   
  
"John, darling, I was thinking," she said as The Doctor on their telly screamed "Dinosaurs! On a spaceship!"  
  
It was a repeat so he willingly turned to her. "What's that, love?"  
  
Mary grabbed his hand with her eyes fixed on the appendage as she rubbed worried circles into his knuckles. "We haven't seen much of Sherlock lately. Well, I haven't. I know you see him when you go on cases, but I was thinking we could invite him to dinner."  
  
"I wouldn't say no to that, so what's the catch?"   
  
She looked up, startled. "What makes you think there's a catch?"  
  
John twisted to further face her. "You're rubbing my hand like you're trying to soothe me. You only do that when you're about to say something that is going to upset me. So what is it?"  
  
She looked down at the hand she was holding in surprise. "I didn't realize I did that, actually."  
  
"Mary…" John warned. "You're avoiding the question."  
  
She blushed. "I was thinking we could invite his friend Victor, too."  
  
John jumped up. "Oh hell no."  
  
"He was very nice," she pressed.   
  
"He insinuated that I was Sherlock's boy toy."   
  
"He apologized. And gave a good explanation, too."  
  
"That was bullshit and you know it," John fumed. "I was introduced to Sherlock because we both needed a flat share."  
  
"Maybe at uni Sherlock had money and Victor wasn't aware that his friend had fallen on hard times."  
  
"Not much of a friend, then, was he? I know he wasn't at the funeral." The last word was choked out.  
  
"He was living in another country, John. Maybe he sent his condolences to Mycroft."  
  
John paced back and forth, alternately running his fingers through his hair and rubbing his face with both hands.   
  
From the couch Mary said, "Think of it as a peace offering. Being the better man."  
  
"Why do I have to be the better man? I'm always the better man."  
  
She stood up and stopped his pacing with a gentle hug. "And that's why I love you."  
  
John crumbled. He knew he would give in. He could only hope that Victor would decline.   
  
John's luck wasn't with him. Not only was Victor coming, he was bringing dessert. So John had Sherlock bring a bottle of wine. He knew his friend had fantastic taste in the stuff and that would impress Mary more than a fancy dessert that Victor probably was picking up at some upscale bakery.   
  
John knew he was being uncharitable, but he couldn't help it. There was just something about the man that rubbed him the wrong way. Mary jokingly said he was jealous. He refused to call it jealousy. Jealousy was reserved for lovers, right?  
  
The day of the dinner, which John had been roped into making as he was the better cook, came far too quickly in his opinion.   
  
Mary was making the salad as John pulled the Shepherd's pie out of the oven. It was one of Sherlock's favorites and it would lure him away from anything he was doing at the time to eat.   
  
The steamed vegetables were almost done when there came a knock on the door. He wiped his hands on the apron and pulled it off. He hoped it was Sherlock; he didn't think he could stand Mary gushing over the red-head without his best friend by his side.  
  
However, when he opened the door he wished it had just been Victor. Standing side by side were the smarmy git and the consulting detective.   
  
"Oh, I didn't realize the two of you were coming together," John said as he opened the wider to let them in.   
  
"Oh, we didn't," Sherlock said, handing John the wine.   
  
Victor swatted at the detective playfully. "Aw, don't tell them that. I wanted them to think we came together."  
  
John ground his teeth, but Sherlock came to his rescue. "You just want them to think this is a double date. Which couldn't be further from the truth. You're straight, Victor, and I'm not."  
  
"Oh," Mary said coming up behind John. "I wasn't aware you were gay, Sherlock." She put her hand on John's arm possessively and Sherlock fought the urge to roll his eyes. Like he had any chance of stealing John away from her.   
  
"I'm not."  
  
John chuckled. "Really, he's not." Mary and Victor turned to him, confused. "How did you describe it, Sherlock? 'Demisexual with homoromantic leanings?'" Sherlock nodded. "Or in simpler terms, he has to feel a strong emotional attachment to get aroused but 'women aren't his area', right?"  
  
Sherlock smiled.  
  
"Well, that just went over my head," Mary whistled. And this time Sherlock did roll his eyes. He thought John had made it perfectly clear.  
  
"So you have to be in love with them before you feel attracted to them, but you lean more toward men in general?" Victor asked.  
  
"Isn't that what I just said?" John frowned.  "And I thought you were taught that sort of thing being a therapist and all?" he asked Mary.  
  
"With children we tend to keep it basic. Transgender, homosexual, straight, bisexual, asexual. Kids don't need to go deeper than that. Especially since sexuality is in flux for most people. It's very rare to find a person that is strictly one or the other. Straight men liking to watch two girls making out, for example." John and Victor blushed while Sherlock just smirked.   
  
"Well, um…" John coughed, bringing an end to the uncomfortable silence that had descended. "Dinner's ready. I hope you like Shepherd's pie, Victor."  
  
"I've been known to devour a whole pie by myself on occasion," Victor joked.   
  
"Well, looks like you'll have to fight Sherlock for it. It's his favorite," John said through clenched teeth. He was really starting to think he shouldn't have let Mary talk him into this.   
  
"Really, Sherlock?" Victor said, smiling, "I didn't think you liked any food well enough to have a favorite."  
  
"Only when John cooks it," Sherlock huffed.   
  
John preened with pride at the surprised look on the red-head's face.  
  
"It must be made with magic, then," Victor surmised as he made his way to the table, where Mary was dishing out the salad. They all sat down and John passed around plates of neatly-cut Shepherd's pie.  
  
"I just add cheese to the top," he said as he handed the final plate to Victor.   
  
"Ah, and here I thought the secret ingredient was love," Victor quipped. And while Sherlock and John laughed, Mary looked at her hands in her lap, her lips pressed firmly together.   
  
Sherlock noticed and rolled his eyes again. He really couldn't understand why the woman thought that he was in any way a threat to her relationship with John. Besides, he thought they were friends. Well, they were until just now, when she found out he wasn't straight and could be interested in her man. This is why he thought so little of the fairer sex. The back-biting and back-stabbing, all for their overwhelming desire to mate. Men were based in reason. Though, he must admit that John geared toward sentimentality, but he somehow found that endearing instead of annoying.   
  
Sherlock felt a nudge under the table and he looked up to see John nodding to his plate. Oh. He had forgotten to eat while he was so busy thinking about Mary being fickle.   
  
He picked up up his fork, took a bite of the dish, and purred happily. He knew that it was a simple ingredient shift, it shouldn't make that big of a difference, but he always thought it tasted sublime. Of course he knew that John would keep a couple of single servings of the Shepherd's pie in the freezer for him to eat when a case ran too long and he needed food before he dropped dead of starvation. Sherlock also let the good doctor believe that he didn't know that's why he did it. Let John think he was pulling the wool over his eyes. After all, it was a harmless lie that made John feel good.  
  
The conversation seemed to move smoothly for the most part. Though Sherlock could tell that both Mary and John were slightly uncomfortable about something. Mary about her new-found knowledge of his sexuality and John with Victor. Truth be told, he sided with John on this one. How could someone like John, who cared so much what others thought of him, be comfortable around Victor, who believed he was Sherlock's kept man?  
  
They were about to get to Victor's dessert, which Sherlock noted with a grimace was a very rich chocolate confection. Both John and Sherlock were getting sick just looking at the thing, when Sherlock got a call.   
  
"I beg your pardon, it's my brother," he said stepping into the kitchen. He knew that Mycroft wouldn't disturb him without due cause when he was over at Mary's.  
  
When he came back out, a frown creased his brow so deeply that John rose to his feet.  
  
"Sherlock, are you alright?" he said, stepping toward the tall detective.   
  
"Apparently one of Moriarty's strays is kicking up dust looking for stolen treasury plates," he muttered darkly.  
  
"Oh, damn." John kissed Mary on the cheek and raced to grab his coat. "Sorry, love. Excuse us, Victor. If Moriarty had a hand in this, Mycroft is going to need us both."  
  
Victor looked as confused as Mary felt.   
  
"I thought Moriarty was dead," she tried to reason with her boyfriend.   
  
"Yes, but if he stole the plates to begin with, then the only people who have dealt with the man enough to know how he thinks are John and me. And while granted I know more than John, having hunted down his organization for three years, it is a situation that could be highly dangerous and I need my partner to watch my back."  
  
Mary sighed. She knew Sherlock had a point, but she didn't want the two of them alone anymore. Especially in a high-stress situation, who knew what might happen. But she let them go anyway, and she walked them to the door. She was about to close it, when Sherlock darted back around.  
  
"You know he _loves you_ , right?"  
  
Mary looked up, shocked. Then she blushed. Of course Sherlock had seen through her. And as always, he was right. Even if Sherlock had feelings for John, and she certainly hadn't see anything to indicate that, John loved her. After all, he said he was straight.  
  
Sherlock winked and he was off like a shot. Mary sighed and turned back to Victor.   
  
"Well, let's enjoy that delicious-looking cake you brought," she said, coming back to the table.  
  
"Do they do that often?" he asked as she cut him a slice.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Run off in the middle of dinner?" He accepted the cake from her and took an appreciative bite.  
  
Mary laughed. "Not that often, no." She cut herself a rather large slice and sat down. "Liya is so going to be disappointed dinner didn't turn out."  
  
"Liya? Why's that?"  
  
"It was her idea for the four of us to get together for dinner. I think she wanted you and John to get to know each other better so you could be, well not friends exactly, but definitely less antagonistic."  
  
Victor laughed. "I guess I blew that one!"   
  
Mary chuckled. "I suppose you did. Why were you picking on him anyway?"   
  
Victor just smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock thought the case sounded highly intriguing. A friend of Mycroft's came to him saying that another gentleman had come to him bearing the same unusual last name. He said that he was looking for a separate gentleman also bearing the rare surname, saying that he was looking for this other gentleman to give him his share in the inheritance. But Mycroft thought it was strange and dug a little deeper. While his friend and the missing gentleman indeed had the same surname, this other fellow most certainly did not.   
  
John thought the whole thing was dizzying.  
  
This gentleman was actually a dangerous criminal whose real name was James Winter and was looking for the treasury plates. He had killed the man who had hidden them there and was upset that there was someone else living in the house where the dead man said he had stored the plates in the cellar. The man, one Roger Peabody, who was in fact once a forger for Moriarty. Sherlock had dug deeper and found that the missing gentleman was a fiction perpetrated by Winter to get the poor eccentric out of the house.   
  
Sherlock had Mycroft accompany his friend to meet the fictional gentleman while he and John sat in the cellar, lying in wait for the sneaky blackguard. They watched while the criminal opened the secret passage and waited until Winter was fully inside before they sprang their trap. Sadly, they had missed one detail.  
  
Winter was armed.   
  
As soon as he saw the two guns aimed at him, he fired twice. The first shot went wide. John and Sherlock were not quite so fortunate when it came to the second shot. John cried out in pain and dropped to the floor. Sherlock leaped over his friend and bashed the killer over the head with the butt of his revolver, drawing blood. It was enough to daze Winter, though not enough to knock him out. Sherlock disarmed him and then dashed back to John's side.   
  
"John! John! Are you alright?" Sherlock called as he panicked, searching his friend's torso for the wound. Finding none in the mortal areas, he led his friend over to a small chair.   
  
John grimaced in pain. "I'm fine, Sherlock. It was just a graze. It hurts like bloody hell, though."  
  
Sherlock turned back to the criminal who lay bleeding on the floor, his face a dark and twisted mask of fury. "If you had killed him, you wouldn't be leaving this room alive either."  
  
The other man scoffed. "I know you've got cops on the way here; you would have been hauled off if you had tried."  
  
"Oh, I don't know," Sherlock growled menacingly. "I think I could make a case for self defense. Plus, didn't you hear? My brother's the British Government and it was his friend you tried to swindle."  
  
Winter paled and gulped noisily and Sherlock's expression turned into a dangerous grin. Seeing that the criminal was sufficiently cowed, Sherlock turned back to John, clearly concerned.   
  
It was then that John realized the wound was worth it. It would have been worth a thousand wounds, for he had seen beneath his friend's mask and seen the depth of the love and loyalty his friend had for him.   
  
He blushed from embarrassment when that same friend growled at the EMT's that had been called, when they said they had to cut the trouser leg off to stitch the wound.   
  
"Oi! You know they have to cut it off so that the material doesn't stick to the wound. It's alright. It's not as though the jeans were new or anything. Or even my favorite."  
  
Sherlock backed off. He couldn't tell his friend that he wasn't worried about the stitching or the material. He was worried that the pretty, young EMT might get too much of an eyeful. And while he had to live with Mary seeing parts of John that he didn't, that didn't mean he had to put up with others doing so.   
  
While they were stitching him up, John called Mary.  
  
"Hey, love," John said when she picked up. He could hear Victor giggling in the background. The man was still there and judging from the giggles, a little inebriated. Most likely from the wine that Sherlock and he had left behind.   
  
"Oh hey, John," she replied and John could tell she was little tipsy, too. He sighed to himself. "I was about to call Victor a cab. We were both waiting to see if you and Sherlock would be returning tonight. Which clearly, you're not."  
  
"About that, Mary…there was an incident…" John began.  
  
This time Mary sighed. "Which hospital are you at?"  
  
"None of them. They wanted me to go to hospital and keep me there to insure there weren't any complications, but Sherlock pointed out it's really only a scratch that didn't take many stitches. So they are sending me home with strict instructions not to move until the stitches dissolve."  
  
"So where was it this time?" she asked with all the resigned patience of someone who has done this once or twice before.   
  
"The upper thigh, which means I will be holed up on the couch until Dr. Holmes deems it's safe enough for me to be out and about again."  
  
Mary chuckled at that. The detective was not one for taking care of himself, but when John was injured on the job, Sherlock made damn sure his flatmate did everything the doctors said. It drove John nuts sometimes, doctors really being the worst patients, but most of the time he enjoyed the attention.   
  
"I'll stop by to make sure that Dr. Holmes doesn't drive you too insane," Mary said and then paused. "Well, more insane than you two already are," she amended.   
  
"Thanks," John said before hanging up.   
  
Sherlock smiled down at his friend. "Come on, John, let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I rip off "The Three Garridebs"? I think I might have ;).


	8. Chapter 8

Liya's temper flared. She was all for the boys getting together on their own, but really? A kidnapping? This was too much to be borne. She called Mycroft, who informed her that Sherlock had told him to "butt out." And that he would find the good doctor on his own. Or, well, rather with a certain Detective Inspector.   
  
"You know, Mycroft, it really is a sad state of affairs when your own brother trusts someone he's only known a few years over you."  
  
Mycroft didn't say anything, but she could feel the seething emanating from the other end of her mobile.   
  
"Really, I don't know what happened between the two of you, but can't you at least try and mend fences?"  
  
"You think Sherrinford and I haven't tried? As far as Sherlock is concerned, we abandoned him to the devil and nothing and no one will change his mind to the contrary."  
  
Liya sighed. "Very well, Mycroft. I'll leave it be." For now hung between them unspoken, but the message was clear. She liked to meddle, and matchmaking was only the tip of the iceberg. Of course, she would have tried earlier, but being on the other side of the world too often made that difficult. After all, it was easier to bash heads in person.  
  
"So, do we know where the good doctor has been taken?"  
  
"Liya…" Mycroft warned. "When Sherlock says to 'butt out', he means it. He's done this on more than one occasion. John will be home before dinner, I assure you." And with that he hung up on his interfering sister-in-law.  
  
Liya stared at her phone and snarled, "How rude!"  
  
***  
  
Sherlock was on edge. Not because John was taken. Well…not just because John was taken. This was the first time a criminal had used John as leverage against him since the former soldier started dating Mary, and he was concerned that this might be the last straw for her. That she might forbid John from going on cases with Sherlock.   
  
No, no. He couldn't focus on that now. He had to focus on getting John back. They had been working on a case from Mycroft again. It seemed that all the interesting cases these days came from the Home Office. This one involved a gang of art thieves. Had it been the work of a single person, Sherlock would have suspected the Woman. The items being stolen seemed her style. A small vase from Egypt's Roman era. Another bloody jade hair pin. A kodachi from the Edo period. It was interesting because of how they were getting in. They were like ghosts. The tapes hadn't been altered in any way but assuredly in every case the item was there one moment and gone the next.   
  
Sherlock had figured out that someone was hacking into the security system of each museum and playing a recording from an earlier date. He had deduced this from the fact that at one museum they had fresh flowers and the flowers had changed from one minute to the next. The museum had used white calla lilies for years but on that date, the flower shop had accidentally sent the wrong flowers. They decided instead of sending back the dozens of purple orchids that they would try them out to see if they liked them better. As it turned out, the manager was deathly allergic and was sent home that day.   
  
The thieves had taken to taunting the police Arsène Lupin style. Leaving riddles at the crime scene. Sherlock and John had been brought on after the second robbery, but before Sherlock could crack the next riddle the third theft occurred. He managed to stop them the next time, though. That is when the detective inspector had got a message saying that police cheated bringing in Sherlock Holmes and that they had taken something of equal value from the great detective. They had taken John Watson.   
  
Sherlock had been aware that Mary was off visiting Liya today and was grateful that she hadn't been there when it happened. Who knows what they would have done to her? Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His breath rattled in his lungs as he released it. Once he was calm, he came to the conclusion that they had waited, making sure that she was out of the flat before they swooped in and snatched his friend. It meant at least that they didn't want to harm anyone unnecessarily. But he couldn't be sure that they would see not hurting John as "unnecessary."   
  
About an hour ago, Sherlock had gotten a video from the kidnappers. It showed John unharmed for now but clearly in distress. There was a tightness around his eyes, and his shoulders were squared. He was in soldier mode but Sherlock knew every nuance of his friend's frame. And every twitch, every wince, every movement screamed that the former army captain was frightened. Perhaps they had threatened Mary to get him to come peacefully. That would make sense.  
  
There were three of them. There had only been two that showed up on the video but the shadow of the camera man suggested that there were at least three of them. But Sherlock doubted there were more. Any larger an operation would expose them. He was sure that ring leader was the woman. Though their faces were cast in shadow, the woman spoke with authority and the man seemed to defer to her. He almost suspected the Woman again, but the body type was off. While the Woman was thin and short, this woman was tall and curvy. And if the way that the man pointing the gun at John was any indication by the way he kept licking his lips, she was quite the siren.  
  
It was probably how they were convinced to follow her. She hadn't "put out", but gave just them enough to keep them keyed up. But it was something that Sherlock could work with, the two men fighting over her, just enough of distraction. But first Sherlock had to find John. The video gave some clues. It was clearly underground in an older part of London. The dripping water suggested somewhere near the docks. He had narrowed it down but he was running out of time.  
  
"Think!" he snarled in frustration. Sgt. Donavon and DI Lestrade jumped and the movement caught his eye. He had forgotten they were even there.   
  
"How long have I been in my mind palace?" Sherlock asked, standing up.   
  
Lestrade consulted his watch. "About fifteen minutes or so," he told the tall detective, who sighed in relief. He had feared that he may have missed the deadline. He walked over to the map the two officers had been staring at and pointed at set of buildings.  
  
"What're those?" he asked, more for Sally's benefit than his own. Lestrade looked up sharply.   
  
"Oh!" Lestrade slapped his forehead. "Of course! Back before refrigeration, meat had to be stored underground to keep it cool as it cured. Those are old meat packing plants. Prime spot for holding an ex-army doctor, don't you think?" Donavon nodded and took off, calling out the address into her comm.   
  
Once she was out of the room, Lestrade pressed something cold and heavy into Sherlock's hand. "This is completely off the record," he said as Sherlock looked down to see an old revolver in his hand. "There is nothing in the system. Go get the bastards."   
  
Sherlock nodded.   
  
He took off like shot, making his way out the back of the New Scotland Yard. He hailed a cab and directed the driver to the old abandoned meat packing plant where John was being kept by the kidnappers. He figured he had twenty minutes before the police arrived.  
  
Once Sherlock was there, he moved to the building which he deduced the criminals were in, based on the activity surrounding it. Sherlock rolled his eyes. This was too easy. Coming up from behind the first man, he place him in a choke hold until the thug passed out. Sherlock lowered him to the floor gently.   
  
The next one required a bit more finesse. In a whirlwind of punches, kicks and coat, the remaining thug fell to the ground with a soft thump. Sherlock flung open the door and there was the ringleader standing over John with the gun pointed to his head.  
  
"Well, hello there Mr. Holmes. Have you come for my prize yet again?"  
  
"You clearly haven't learned not to take things that don't belong to you," Sherlock drolled as he strolled into the room.   
  
"Ah, but this one doesn't belong to you either, does he?" she said, running long finger nail over John's chin. He flinched from her touch and she drew blood.   
  
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Dr. Watson. You're so breakable," she purred.   
  
"You know," Sherlock growled, "I was going to be nice, seeing as he was unharmed, but alas that is no longer the case." At that moment John thrust to the one side sending the chair he was tied to, over and Sherlock surged forward, striking her with the butt of the revolver. The arm that held the gun flew wide, sending her gun out of her grasp. While she was dazed, Sherlock flipped his gun around and pointed it between her eyes.   
  
"Twitch even a little and your brain will be decorating this room's walls," he deadpanned. She stood stock still, her eyes wide with fear.   
  
"You stupid criminals," Sherlock sneered as he walked over to where his friend had toppled over. "John Watson may be my weakness, but he is also the one thing I would do anything to get back." Not taking his eyes off her for a moment, he loosened the rope so that John could get out on his own. Once John was free, he took the rope and tied her up.   
  
"How long until the cavalry arrives?" John asked, finally taking a moment to wipe away the blood on his chin.  
  
Sherlock consulted his watch and smiled. "Oh, about seven minutes."  
  
John blinked. "Right, then. Let's clean up and give the cops a nice pretty package to pick up." Sherlock's smile turned into a grin and he and John dragged the two unconscious men into the same room with the tied-up female. John checked their vitals briefly to insure their continued health.   
  
"You did a good job, Sherlock. There will be absolutely no ill effects, other than a massive headache." John dusted his hands off in pride. He closed the door behind him and walked to catch up to the detective, who stood waiting for him a few feet from the door.  
  
"I learned from the best," Sherlock said as he lead the way back to freedom. They walked out to dozens of police cars, two ambulances, and one black car, which no doubt held Liya, Mycroft, and Mary.   
  
Sherlock told Lestrade where his suspects were holed up and then led John over to one of the ambulances.   
  
"I don't need to see a medic, Sherlock. I'm fine," John huffed, as he let his friend drag him along.  
  
"It's still bleeding, John. We are merely getting you a plaster to stop the bleeding," Sherlock reasoned and John could not refuse.   
  
As he was joking with the medic about the cut, he got barreled into by a short blonde.   
  
"Mary! I'm alright. It's just a small cut, and it was entirely my fault."  
  
"Oh, John! I was so worried! Liya couldn't get Mycroft to tell us where you were," Mary complained.   
  
"I told her Sherlock had everything under control," came a male voice that was distinctly _not_ Mycroft. John turned around to see Sherlock's annoying friend coming up to them with Liya and Mycroft following behind.   
  
Even Sherlock furrowed his brow at seeing his old university mate. "What are you doing here, Victor?"  
  
"Oh," the red-head smirked, "I'm here for moral support for the ladies. There was a slight mixup, you see. Liya thought she was seeing Mary today and me tomorrow but accidentally told us both the same day. So I was there when the call came in."  
  
John glared at him over Mary's head as he soothed her. Victor just shrugged.   
  
"You got kidnapped, John, and everyone was acting like it was a day in the park. I don't understand," Mary whimpered into John's shoulder.   
  
"It's just what happens when dealing with bad people, Mary. Military, police, or consulting detectives. Besides, I knew I was safe. Sherlock always finds me. But I was worried for you, sweetheart. They told me they'd hurt you if I didn't come along peacefully," he murmured, stroking her hair.   
  
Sherlock nodded; he had deduced it was something like that.   
  
"I'm not sure if I can take it, John," she muttered helplessly.   
  
"Even if I were to stop chasing Sherlock on cases, I'd still be his best friend and therefore still a target. The difference? Instead of being there and having his back, I would be at home worrying that something may have had happened to him. I would be tied up in knots, fearing the day when I would get the call."  
  
Their eyes met over Mary's head and Sherlock knew. He felt elated. John was going to continue to come on cases with him. He had nothing to fear. John, as always, surprised him yet again.  
  
Liya pried Mary off John and told her that John would probably like to spend the night in his own bed, exhausted as he was. John nodded and promised Mary that he would meet her for breakfast. Mary allowed herself to be led away, leaving the men behind. Victor winked at Sherlock before following the ladies.   
  
Sherlock stared after Victor's receding form, frowning in confusion. He didn't understand why his old friend was winking at him. Cocking his head to the side, he wondered if perhaps it were a sentiment thing.   
  
He was grateful to Liya for taking care of Mary and allowing him time alone with John. He made a mental note to send her flowers in the morning. Right now, however, all he wanted to do was spend the evening curled up on the couch with his best friend.  
  
Before sauntering off with said best friend, he walked over to his brother and nudged him with his hip.   
  
"Stop eyeing my Detective Inspector like a chocolate eclair and talk to him!" and then Sherlock promptly turned on his heel and left, John hurrying to catch up.


	9. Chapter 9

Liya had decided it was time to up the stakes by playing a little game. A game that she hoped would end in a date, and if she did it right, a kiss as well…  
  
***  
  
Mary came home to a John on her couch and couldn't be happier. Between cases and her schedule, they hadn't seen much other each other since he had been kidnapped. Though she had to admit that she probably had been too emotional that night and needed a break. She had cried on Liya's shoulder, asking if she had been a bad girlfriend. Liya had refuted it, of course, but still Mary couldn't shake the feeling that maybe she was wrong for John.   
  
He had been right: regardless of whether he was on cases with Sherlock or not, they would come after him as Sherlock's weakness. Or Mrs. Hudson, which John would not stand for at all. She had thought being the wife of someone like John would be thrilling, but she was learning it was frightening instead.   
  
She curled up in his arms and sighed. "We don't go out much anymore."  
  
"I know, love. And I have just the solution. Liya got us opening-night tickets to _Don Giovanni_ at the National."  
  
"Oh, my! The National! You're joking, right?" Mary had jumped around to look him in the eye.  
  
"Nope. A private box, too. So what do you say, Miss Morstan? You want to go with me next Friday?"  
  
Mary's face fell. "Next Friday? I can't. I have that meeting with the parents of one of my clients."  
  
"Then we just won't go. We'll go out this weekend, go to dinner."  
  
Mary snuggled up to her boyfriend. She was disappointed, but at least John was taking her out this weekend instead.   
  
"I'd hate for those tickets to go to waste," she murmured into his chest. "We should give them to Sherlock."  
  
John sat up a little straighter. "Oh?"  
  
"Yeah, it's his favorite opera, too. Liya told me."  
  
"I never knew that," John huffed. A bit upset that he hadn't known that about his best friend. "Well, when I go home, I'll give them to him."  
  
"You aren't staying the night?" Mary complained.   
  
"I'd love to, Mary. But I have to go to court tomorrow morning. I have to testify, remember?"   
  
Mary sighed. Another hazard of being a consulting detective, having to testify in court for the cases they solve.   
  
"Of course, love. At least I get you for a few hours, then…"  
  
They spent a nice quiet night in, wrapped in each others arms, curled up on the couch.   
  
***  
  
"Sherlock! I'm home," John called as he walked up the seventeen steps to Baker Street. _Home_. It always would be. Even if he married Mary. _Hmm… when had it become if instead of when?_ He shook his head as he removed his coat.  
  
He walked into the sitting room and found his flatmate sprawled out on the couch in his pajamas and bathrobe. Sherlock was in his classic mediation pose. Legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. Hands tucked under his chin, clasped together in supplication to the higher god that is his superior intelligence. His eyes cast upwards. John stopped to take in the dark-haired man's ethereal form.   
  
In the flickering, failing light of the dying fire, Sherlock's skin was cast in a warm glow, rarely seen on the detective. His hair, usually dark brown, almost raven in its coloring, turned a warm chocolate brown.  His eyes were lit up like star light and there was something vulnerable in the lines around his mouth.   
  
To say John was enchanted would be an understatement. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, drumming out a rhythm against his ribs as he took a step further into his room. The doctor felt drawn to the beauty on the couch, in ways he had never felt before. Not for anyone. He let out a shuddering breath. That caught Sherlock's attention, he looked up at John and smiled.   
  
John smiled back, "So, you do remember not to be overly clever on the stand, right?"  
  
Sherlock smirked. "I remember. I won't repeat the Moriarty incident, John. I promise."  
  
John chuckled as Sherlock sat up.  
  
"How was your evening with Mary?" the detective asked.  
  
"Oh, it was fine," John said as he made his way to the kitchen to make tea. "Until I mucked it up by being a bad boyfriend."  
  
"Not possible," the taller man intoned from the kitchen door.  
  
John flashed his friend a weary smile. "That's nice of you to say, but I forgot she had a meeting next Friday with the parents of one of her clients, otherwise I would have turned down the tickets Liya gave me." He got out two cups and set the kettle to boil.   
  
"And what tickets would those be?" Sherlock asked, leaning against the doorframe.   
  
"Tickets to _Don Giovanni_ opening night at the National."  
  
Sherlock's eyes went so wide that John was sure that they were about to pop out of his friend's head. Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it, unable to articulate. A rare occurrence, John was aware. What John wasn't aware of, was the fact that his flatmate would kill for those tickets.   
  
"Marvelous opera. One of my favorites," Sherlock muttered.  
  
"According to your sister-in-law, your utmost favorite." Sherlock blushed. "Why didn't you tell me?" John asked as he poured the hot water into the cups over the tea leaves to steep.  
  
"I didn't think the opera was your forte," the detective said as he entered the kitchen.  
  
"It's not," John agreed. "But I would rather hear about your favorite things from you, instead of from someone else." _Especially second-hand_ , his mind continued.   
  
"Duly noted."  
  
John had handed Sherlock his tea and then went to fridge for milk for his. He opened and couldn't stop the grin that crept its way to his face as he pulled out a fresh carton.   
  
Sherlock smiled. "Sorry to disappoint you, but that was Mrs. Hudson. She bought too much for the desserts she was making for her bridge club and gave us the extra," he lied.   
  
"Ah, well. Thank you anyway," John said, seeing through the lie.  
  
They sat down at the table, which was mostly clear of experiments. After a moment or two, John reached into his wallet and pulled out the tickets. He smiled as he slid them over to Sherlock.  
  
The detective jumped in shock. "Are you sure?" he asked, breathless.   
  
"Yeah, it's not as though Mary and I can use them. Why don't you take Mrs. Hudson with you? For being not-your-housekeeper?  
  
Sherlock frowned. "It's her bridge night and I don't think that after making all those treats she would be willing to forgo this time 'round."  
  
"Oh." _Right_. John knew that. He cast his mind around to their other friends. "Molly seems like she'd be into the opera, why not take her?"  
  
The tall dark-haired man huffed. "She told me today she's moving in with her boyfriend next weekend. And were that not the case, there is the unfortunate fact that she had a rather large crush on me. While I may not know a lot about sentiment and emotion, even I know that no sane man worth his salt would let his girlfriend near someone like that."   
  
John blinked. _Yes, that would be a problem. The only way I'd allow a former crush of my girlfriend near her, is if it was a double date and even then I would be watching them like a hawk._  
  
"What about Greg? Does he like that sort of thing?"  
  
Sherlock's frown increased. "No. He's like you in that regard. Even if he did, my brother would either have me sanctioned or killed for trying."  
  
"Oh?" John asked raising a curious eyebrow.   
  
"Yes. It appears that my brother has taken a liking to the Met's finest Detective Inspector," Sherlock said rolling his eyes.   
  
"Well then," John replied, the other eyebrow raising in surprise.  
  
"Very much so."  
  
John was at a loss now. Mike's wife was expecting their third child any day now. Dimmock, Donovan, and Anderson were all out for being absolute tits. That left a family member, which Sherlock would never deign to do; or that odious man, Victor. And if Sherlock wasn't going to suggest his old university mate, then John sure as hell wasn't going to. Even though the opera seemed like it would be something the tall red-head would enjoy.  
  
"Don't worry about me, John. I'll find someone or go on my own. It's something I'm used to." He stood up, leaving his cup only half drunk. "Good night." Sherlock looked at the doctor for a moment, letting his mask drop just a little for John to see the expression of desolation before he turned on his heel, and walked out of the kitchen to his room, his shoulders slumped and rounded.   
  
John stared at the space the detective had recently vacated, feeling like a complete and utter tit. _Well done, Watson, well done. You are supposed be to his conductor of light, not the arse everyone else is to him. But instead you shine a light on how lonely he is. How few people in this world he would actually want to spend time with._ John buried his head in his hands.   
  
***  
  
The next couple of days had John haunting the flat while Sherlock stayed holed up in his room, only coming out when John left the flat for any reason.  
  
"Sherlock?" John called through the closed bedroom door. "I'm going out with Mary, I'll be home tomorrow." As with all his other attempts to get his best friend to talk, he was only met with silence.   
  
He had only their landlady's assurance that Sherlock left his room at all. She talked of the ruckus and noise of Sherlock-level tantrums interrupted only by the sounds of a violin being played. Sometimes it was harsh and violent, she said. Others, it was so mournful that she cried.   
  
Hearing that made John feel worse. He knew he was the cause, but until he could get the tall, dark-haired man to talk to him there was nothing he could do. He begged, pleaded, and yelled out apologies, concerns, and threats. He regretted the last one, but he was doing anything he could think of to get Sherlock to talk him. It all failed.  
  
He went to to the restaurant where Mary was waiting for him. Coming up to their table he kissed her cheek before sitting down.   
  
"Hey, sweetheart," he muttered, looking at the menu.   
  
Mary reached across the table to take his hand. "What's up, love?" she asked.  
  
John sighed, putting the menu down, "I messed up, Mary."  
  
"With Sherlock, I'm assuming?" her voice was soft.  
  
"I made him feel worthless and alone," he explained.  
  
"Oh, John!"  
  
John told her about what had happened with the opera tickets and Mary stared at him blankly.  
  
"Why aren't _you_ going with him?" she asked.   
  
John's jaw dropped. "I am such an idiot! That explains why he didn't want to talk to me."  
  
"That," Mary said with a smirk, "and the fact the man he loves did it. If it was Greg or me, I don't think he would have reacted the same. He would have brushed it off."  
  
John blushed.  
  
"You love him, too, don't you?"  
  
John gulped, "I love you," he protested weakly.  
  
"I know you do you, love, but lately I've been noticing how different we are. We don't want the same things. I thought we did. I thought I wanted adventure and excitement. But I learned I only want to read about those things. I'm-- not strong enough to be yours. He is. It's always been him."  
  
John took her hand in his. "What about you? You're important to him, too. What happens to your relationship with him if we break up?"  
  
Mary sat back, her hand sliding out of John's. She hadn't given that any thought. "Can we still be friends? Because if we can, then Sherlock and I will be fine."  
  
John smiled, "It's a deal." He sighed. "I do love him. I think I always have. Having him gone just made it more real and then he came back and I just…I don't know why I didn't see it until recently."  
  
Mary thought about the past month and came to a conclusion. "I believe we can blame that on a small, red-headed matchmaker named Liya Mason."  
  
John laughed. "Who else? And of course, as she was setting me up with Sherlock, she would be setting _you_ up with someone…" he looked up at Mary sharply as they both came to the same realization.   
  
"Victor," they said together.   
  
"Blech!" John muttered. "You deserve better."  
  
Mary laughed. "Let me decide that. Now go make out...I mean, make up with Sherlock."  
  
He chuckled. "You got this?" he asked, standing up.  
  
"Oh, yeah," she said, rifling through her purse for her phone, as John left. He stopped at the door and looked back. He could barely make out the words, "Hey, Victor. It's Mary. How would you like to join me for dinner?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. Have no fear, there is a sequel. It has one chapter already and it'll be up soon.

Sherlock waited five minutes after John left before he made his way to the sitting room. He sighed, plucking at the strings of his violin without picking it up. He sighed again and then moved to the couch, unable to take solace in his violin just then. Maybe later. He flopped down unceremoniously on the couch.  
  
Just as he had settled in for a good, long strop he heard Mrs. Hudson call out, "Sherlock! You have guests!"  
  
Guests, plural. Eliminating the soft, slow, shuffling steps of his landlady, he could make out two distinct male footsteps. One carrying a cane or…  
  
"Go away, Mycroft. You, too, Ford!"  
  
He heard the warm chuckle of his eldest brother and looked up to see both his brothers standing at the door.   
  
"We aren't going anywhere, Lockie," Sherrinford huffed.  
  
"Fine," Sherlock pouted and rolled to face the back of the couch. "But that doesn't mean I have to acknowledge your presence."  
  
"Well," Mycroft said, "that just makes it easier, I assure you." He moved into the room and sat in John's arm chair, while Sherrinford sat in Sherlock's.  
  
"It has come to my beloved's attention that our dear brother has fallen in love with his flatmate," the eldest Holmes started.  
  
"So it appears," Mycroft agreed.   
  
"It's really too bad that John is with that delightful young lady…What's her name?"  
  
"Mary," Mycroft supplied.   
  
"Yes, Mary. Everything the good doctor could want. Smart, clever, beautiful and of course, with the right bits."  
  
Sherlock growled and pressed a pillow over his head to block them out. They naturally ignored this and continued on.   
  
"It seems to me that John isn't as straight as he makes himself out to be; after all, no one's sexuality is set in stone," Mycroft said.  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"According to Liya, the poor girl is having doubt about how strong her relationship is with John," Sherrinford went on.   
  
At this Sherlock bolted straight up.  
  
"I can't say I'm completely surprised. Not with John getting shot and kidnapped in the same month," Mycroft sighed.   
  
"Quite; apparently she hasn't the constitution for the constant worry."  
  
"Poor girl," the middle Holmes purred. "Of course if they do break up, a free John does not equate to a John willing to return Sherlock's affections. If only there were a way to know for sure."  
  
And then the two elder Holmeses began to count down backward from five. "Five-four-three-two-one…" just as they reached the end, the front door slammed open and they stood up together.  
  
John stopped at the door, shocked to see all three of the Holmes brothers in his flat.  
  
"We were just leaving, weren't we, My?" Sherrinford told John, and Mycroft nodded.   
  
"Oh, yes. Good day, John." And with that, the elder Holmes brothers strolled out, wrapped in an air of smug superiority, leaving a breathless blogger and a dazed detective behind.   
  
"What were they doing here?" John asked, but then held up his hand to forestall Sherlock's answer. "There's something I want to get out first." The dark-haired man gulped and nodded. "I've come a realization." The short doctor walked over the couch and sat next to his best friend. He sighed and then changed his mind on what he wanted to say. He decided he should work up to that, instead of just blurting it out. So instead he exclaimed, "Mary and I have decided to break up."   
  
"Why? I mean-- I heard…" Sherlock waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the door his brothers had recently exited. "But--" his brilliant mind failing him as he tried to speak.  
  
"The great Sherlock Holmes, at a loss of words? A rare sight indeed." The detective blushed. "We're still friends, Mary and I. We've just decided that we loved other people more than we loved each other."  
  
"Clearly, for Mary it was Victor; but for you? Whom could you possibly love more than her?" Sherlock was afraid to hope it was he. He strolled over to the mantle and removed something, hidden beneath the skull and tossed it to John. "And what are you going to do with that?"  
  
John caught the object with ease. He looked at the small, black velveteen box in his hands and sighed. He opened it gently and nestled in its white interior was a small silver ring with a fire opal in its setting.   
  
"She said the opal reminded her of her father. I was going to bring the past to her future,"  John half-whispered more to himself than to Sherlock, but the detective nodded anyway.  
  
John smiled, "Do you think Mrs. Hudson will like it?" They stared at each other for a moment and then one began to chuckle. The other followed and soon they were laughing.  
  
"I love this," John sighed happily once they caught their breath. Sherlock never understood the saying "his heart stopped" until that very moment. His best friend was so close to the words he desperately wanted to hear.  
  
"I love our life, Sherlock, wounds and kidnappings withal. I wouldn't change a thing." Sherlock released the breath he had been holding with a pained sigh. "Well…almost," John added and hope flared once again in the detective.   
  
The army doctor blushed. "I know I'm suppose to be the knowledgable one when it comes to emotions, feelings, and relationships, but it's hard to take that leap when you think you've found the love of your life."  
  
"John…" Sherlock breathed, unsure.   
  
The short blond took the tall detective's hand in his and began rubbing circles, afraid to look up. The younger man lifted his best friend's chin gently until they were eye to eye.   
  
John gulped, "Actions speak louder than words, right?"  
  
"Usually," Sherlock agreed.  
  
"Good," and he leaned forward to press his lips to the other's. The detective gasped and then pushed forward, deepening the kiss.  
  
"Good?" Sherlock echoed.  
  
"Hell, Sherlock. That was more than good. That was fantastic. Brilliant even. As far as first kisses go, that has to be the best," John murmured, breathless.   
  
"Well, as far as first kisses go, I wouldn't have anything to compare that to."  
  
"Yeah?"John asked and Sherlock nodded. "Then we'll go at your pace. I've done this sort of thing before. Well, maybe not with men, but I've done all the other bits of a relationship. So, if you want to take a year to have sex or never, I'm fine with that. If you want to shag like rabbits on the carpet right now, I sure as hell wouldn't say no." The taller man blushed.  
  
"Alright, I take that as a no to the shagging right now and that's okay, Sherlock. A relationship doesn't have to be about sex. Do I like sex? Of course I do, but if you don't, I won't go anywhere else for it. I'm here with you."  
  
"Thank you, John."  
  
"Anything for you, love."  
  
"Will you go with me to the opera?"  
  
John sighed. "Apparently, anything but that. You see, this idiot didn't even realize that it was me you wanted to go with, and on top of that, I went and took a late shift at the surgery that night," he explained with a wince. Sherlock looked crestfallen. "But, I will promise you this, Sherlock Holmes, our first date will be magnificent." The detective brightened considerably.  
  
"Just promise me that you'll go. That you won't pass up this opportunity of a lifetime?" John urged.  
  
The other man nodded and wrapped his arms around his love. They lay together on the couch, curled around each other until they fell asleep. That was where Mrs. Hudson found them later on when they had been quiet for too long and decided she had better check on them. She went away muttering about only needing one bedroom now.   
  
***  
  
The past week had been glorious for Sherlock. Knowing that not only was he able to openly admire John, to be in his arms, to kiss those lips, his friendships with with Mary and Victor flourished. Granted, he had had to bash Victor and John's heads to make them see that they could be at least civil for the sake of the loved ones. Though, John maintained, no one was good enough for Mary.   
  
But some of the warmth of the last week was starting to seep out as he watched John get ready for his late shift.   
  
"I wish you didn't have to go," he pouted at his beau.   
  
John smiled and moved to kiss the other's lips. "I know, love, but I'll make it up to you as promised." Sherlock nodded. "Just go and enjoy Don Giovanni. You won't regret it," the doctor told his partner, running his fingers through the detective's hair. The younger man leaned into the touch, feeling slightly mollified. John chuckled, watching his love arch into the caress like a cat. John bent down and gave Sherlock one last kiss before heading out.   
  
The dark-haired detective huffed and went to get himself ready. He went through the motions slowly, his excitement dimmed at the thought of John not being there. Finally, he could not put off his departure any longer and left the confines of the flat to hail a taxi.   
  
Sherlock spent the trip to the National Theatre in silence, watching the blur of London through the window. Once there, he paid the driver and made his way to the entrance of the theater.   
  
About twenty feet from it, he stopped. There, standing a few steps away from the doors, was a very dapper-looking John Watson. The tall, dark-haired man forgot to breathe. He strolled over to the shorter blond and kissed him, right there on the spot.   
  
John chuckled into the kiss, pleased at Sherlock's reaction. "You like my surprise, then?"  
  
"I liked that you could surprise me," the other man retorted.   
  
John smiled, "I did have some help…" he admitted.  
  
"My family, I presume?"  
  
The doctor nodded shyly as Sherlock pulled out his mobile and sent a mass text to Liya, Sherrinford, and Mycroft:  
  
 _Thank you._ -SH  
  
"Shall we, then?" John asked, indicating with his head the direction of the Theatre and pulling out the other ticket. Sherlock blinked in astonishment.   
  
"You never stop surprising me," Sherlock murmured into his love's ear.   
  
The pair of them couldn't stop smiling as they made their way to their seats. They enjoyed the show and came out chatting excitedly about what they had just seen.  
  
"I enjoyed it more than I thought I would," John told his partner, "though I don't doubt that some of that was you whispering the translation in my ear."  
  
Sherlock chuckled warmly, "If you like that one, I think you'd enjoy _Rigoletto_."  
  
"Oh? Well, we'll go see it the next time it's in town."  
  
"You would like to go again?" the detective inquired a little surprised.  
  
"Why not? We both had a good time," the short blond murmured, taking the other man's hand.   
  
Sherlock beamed down at his love, "Thank you, John. For everything." He looked around, "It's rather late, I doubt we'll find many decent restaurants open right now..." he trailed off as he saw the mischievous grin spread on John's face.   
  
"Oh, I've taken care of that as well…"  
  
They stepped into one of the waiting taxis and as John gave the address, Sherlock's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"Angelo's?" he inquired and when his beau simply beamed at up at him, he leaned over to whisper in his ear, "I love you, John Watson."  
  
"I love you, too, Sherlock."  
  
***  
  
A couple of weeks later, John got a call from Liya.  
  
" _Hey John_ ," she greeted.  
  
"Hey," he replied.  
  
" _So, how are things with Sherlock?_ "   
  
"Just fine." If there was a question John had gotten tired of hearing in the last few days, that would be it. It was like people expected John to throw in the towel any day now.   
  
" _Oh, wrong question, I take it?_ " she asked.   
  
"Something like that, yeah," he huffed into the phone.   
  
" _I guess the better question would be, 'how are you both settling into the relationship?_ '"  
  
"Definitely a better question. We're fine. Not much of a change really. We acted like an old married couple to begin with. All that's really changed is the physical. The amount of touching we're allowed to do now," John explained.   
  
" _So, have you had sex yet?_ " she asked, a grin evident in her tone.  
  
"Liya!" he yelled into the phone. "One, that's not any of your business. Two, why the hell is everyone under the impression that after we confessed our feelings for each other that we just hopped into bed and fucked like rabbits! And three, we are talking about the same person, right? He's not used to letting people into his space as it is. That level of intimacy is hard for him. We're taking things one step at a time. So, no. We haven't had sex yet."  
  
" _Fair enough,_ " she said and John could almost see her raise her hands in surrender. " _So, I'm sure by now someone has informed you that there were a number of us actively trying to get the two of you together?_ "  
  
"Operation: Johnlock, right? Yeah, Ford told us."  
  
" _Good ol' Sherry, I can always count on him to relay the right information. How would you like a little payback?_ "  
  
"Oh?" John asked interested.   
  
"I _'m going to get Mycroft together with that dashing Detective Inspector of yours._ "  
  
John's grin could almost be described as feral, as he rumbled into the phone, "Count us in."  
  
" _Good. Operation:_ Mystrade _is a go_."


End file.
